Chapter 7
Jake turns his horse to face the line of prisoners, each mounted on his own horse. He grins at the site of John checking the chains and manacles of each prisoner. Jake draws his gun as he yells, “So, this is how this is gonna work. I will lead the way. You will ride single file behind me. The other marshal will ride behind you. If any of you so much as stumbles out of line a single step, he will shoot you and we’ll just keep riding. If you live or die will be in God’s hands. Got it?”
Having finished in his task, John smiles as he mounts his horse. He pulls the repeater from his saddle. “I don’t have any problems shooting any of you in the back. Don’t worry, though. We’ll tie you to your saddle and keep going on, if I have to shoot you.” He cocks the repeater. “Now, move out!”
Jake turns his horse and leads the way. After a few steps, though, he hears Doc Bakker yell, “Hey, John! Before you go!”
A moment later he hears John’s voice call out, “Halt! Hold the line, I say!”
Jake holds his gun at the ready and turns his horse. He sees John and David talking, then David passing him a folded piece of paper. John reads it, nods, then folds it back up and places it in the pocket of his vest.
John turns his horse back to the line and waves for the column to move forward.
Jake resolves himself to find out what all that was about at the next opportunity.
JOHN IS GLAD THAT THE trip was as uneventful as it was. It took them close to twice as long to get to Norman as it should, but the Shawnee Road was wet after all, and the horses slipped and slid the whole way.
The two marshals rode the column over to Sheriff Lyttle’s office first. John’s really glad they did, too, since it appears that the men’s concerns over keeping the prisoners in some type of a facility were unfounded.
When John mentioned taking the men to the garrison, Dawkins, the sheriff’s assistant, told John to simply take the men to the cells in the back.
That was more than an hour ago. John watches the telegrapher while he sends the second of two messages. The first one requested a marshal to come and pick up the prisoners. This one, telling Joey and her grandmother that Cherokee has been gravely injured. He reaches down to the interior pocket of his vest and pulls out the note from David.
Joey has to know. Her father needs her.
John sighs. Why must he get assignments like this?
The telegrapher stands as he finishes at the telegraph station. “Messages sent and received. I understand these messages are being sent by the Marshal’s Service, so no charge. Was there anything else?”
John shakes his head. “I appreciate it. Would you be able to send a message to me at the Emerald Fields, if they respond?”
The telegrapher nods and waves him on. John waves his thanks, puts the note back into his vest pocket and leaves the railroad office, then remounts his horse.
As John and Josh make their way in the dark night to the hotel, Josh looks to John and demands, “So, what was that about? What did David say to you?”
“Nothing much. Just that I needed to notify Cherokee’s family of his injuries.”
His expression unsure, Josh nods. He’s always been able to tell when his blood-brother is lying, a fact which has caused John an untold amount of chagrin in their dealings with each other.
John sighs. “We’re going to a hotel I prefer to stay at. We’ll let them know you’re a deputy marshal, they’ll give you a great rate.”
The two riders ride on through the mostly quiet town, lost in their own thoughts.
They ride up to the livery stable across the street from the Emerald Fields hotel. John’s half afraid that Paul has closed for the night, until the man in question meets them at the door.
Paul crosses his arms as he leans against the door jam and says, “It’s a bit late to be getting’ into town, isn’t it, marshal?”
They dismount in front of the huge livery man. John smiles. “Yeah, we had some trouble on the road. Speaking of which, would you mind giving our mounts a bit of a rub-down? They’ve had a hard road today.”
Paul looks critically at the horses and says, “They’ll get a good rub-down and a warm bucket of oats each as well. Looks like they could use it.” When he sees Ranger, he looks more closely at Josh and smiles. “Well, hello, Deputy.” He looks back at John. “I’m glad you two caught up to each other.”
John clears his throat. “Yeah, we caught up to each other finally. Thanks for doing what you could to help out with that.”
As they grab their bags and head across the street, Paul waves the two men on with a parting, “Have a great night!”
JAKE STARES AT THE older Irishman, the hotel owner, attempting to puzzle out what he is trying to say.
John smiles. “Sorry, Joseph. The Deputy here, is a little slow to understand other accents.” He looks at Jake and says, “He asked how long we expect to be staying here.” He looks back at the Irishman. “A day or two, we hope. Just long enough to give our depositions and have some prisoners picked up.”
“Ah. T’hen I kin tell ya t’hat we haff more trains a-makin’ t’heir way ta Norman now. Are ya t’hinkin’ a certain marshal migh’ be stayin’ here? I haff a young lady here who would like ta say hi ta her fren.”
John nods. “I expect Blackwolf will wanna come back down.”
The older man nods and hands over two keys, each to their own room. Then he says, “Laura’s gon’ ta bed. ‘Tis still open fer drinks iffin ya wan’.”
John smiles. “You know me, I like my Guinness. We’ll be right down.”
THIRTY MINUTES AFTER check-in, John is sitting at his usual table, sitting across from Josh waiting for Brigit to deliver their drinks. He sighs disconsolately. They got here at 8 o’clock. He’s annoyed it took them so long to get to town, but there’s no help for it. He looks up to see Brigit approach.
“Here you go, gentlemen.” Brigit’s voice sounds deeper, more unstable than John has heard since her admission about fleeing from Richard.
“Are you alright?” John asks in a low tone.
She gives him a surprised look and tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She glances away and nods. “I’ll be okay.” She steps away from the table quickly and leaves the restaurant, waving away Sean’s questions.
John drains half his Guinness in one drink as Sean approaches.
“Kin ya tell ma wha’ happen’t?” Sean demands as he approaches.
“I just asked her if she was okay was all.”
Sean’s face darkens in concern as he says, “Huh. Okay. I t’hankee.”
Josh gives John a questioning look as Sean goes to the kitchen.
Quietly, and in Cherokee, John explains a bit of the history with the young couple.
Josh shakes his head and asks, “Why are we talking in the Cherokee?”
“Not my story to tell anyone else. You needed to know. I hope you know not to tell just anyone about this. One of the wanted posters you brought me was for Richard, the man that attacked her. While what he tried to do to her is vile, it’s the least of his crimes he’s committed this last year, I think.”
Josh cocks an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“Can’t prove it, but the person attacking the Indian children lately? I think it’s him. Everything points to it. Since I’m only a town marshal, I can’t go outside my jurisdiction and the US Marshals service hasn’t had the manpower to look into it.”
Josh shakes his head in disbelief. “That may be only the half of it. You only know of the attacks down here. A part of Cherokee’s mission in Shawnee was to look into attacks on children in their lands as well. He’d sent word to home office saying he couldn’t provide all the details he found, but would include it in his report when his negotiations were concluded.”
John sighs deeply. While he expected this, it’s still disturbing news. He remembers getting Cherokee’s saddlebags from his friend’s dead horse. “Did you know what papers he carried?”
Josh shakes his head. “I only knew he was there
brokering a deal for the Shawnee lands to be opened up.”
John chuckles. “I’m glad those idiots had no idea what was in there. They could have done a lot more damage than they did.”
Josh looks at him sharply. “Surely, he wasn’t carrying the treaty.”
“Only one way to find out.” John shrugs. “That’ll have to wait, til we get back to Denver, won’t it?”
Josh shakes his head in disbelief.
Sean walks up to the table, saying quietly, “John, kin I haff a wort wit’ ya, in privit?”
Uh oh. John looks at Josh, curious how his blood-brother would take not being included on the conversation. “It’s been a really long day anyway. I think I’ll hit the hay. Wanna talk while on my way up to my room?”
Sean nods. As the two men head up the stairs, Sean says quietly, “Brigit’s got a bad feelin’. She says ‘tis somet’hin’ ta do wit’ ya ’n Richard. She kin hardly talk. I t’hought I’d give ya tha warnin’ somet’hin’ mebbe comin’ yer way, ‘n soon.”
John nods. Knowing to expect something, but not knowing what that something is always makes whatever it is all that much worse, but still, he appreciates the warning. He looks at Sean closely and, seeing the worry on his young friend’s face, asks, “What is it?”
Sean shakes his head uncertainly. “I dunnae know how ta handle t’his. ‘Tis tha first time she been like t’his.”
Something in his voice doesn’t ring true. John cocks an eyebrow and stares at the young Irishman.
It only takes half a minute, before Sean’s composure cracks and he says, “OH! All RIGHT! She said she’s afrait she’s goan lose ma soon. I cannae make heads or tails outta it.”
John nods and heads back to his room. Just inside the door, he turns and says to Sean, “There’s only very few things in this world you can count on. First is that you’re gonna die someday. Second is that Christ will always love you. Thirdly is that the future is never set in stone. Put your faith in God and trust that whatever happens, you will have Him backing you.”
Sean shakes his head. “I cannae say fer sure, but I dunnae know I b’lieve ‘tis a gift ‘o tha foresigh’ or if ‘tis a curse.”
John shakes his head. “Any gift from God is a gift, never a curse. You have to keep that in mind, or you’ll always question your own abilities and never be able to get anything done.”
Sean sighs and nods. “Aye. I cannae say t’his or isnae from tha Lord.” He shakes his head. “I canne say it a’tall.” He turns to leave but turns to face John once more. “At least I tole ya tha warnin’. I hope ya have a great night. ‘Tis a long day I’ve had, too, ya know.”
John waves bye as Sean pulls the door closed and pulls his Bible out of his saddlebags and begins reading. It’s hard to believe he’s had this treasure only for six months and feels bereft when he’s not able to read from it every day. He’s more surprised, though, that he’s been able to survive as long as he did without his faith.
Chapter 8
Jake smiles as he remembers being able to sneak up behind Sean and John as they discussed the premonition that Brigit just had. He stands with his ear turned toward the wall adjoining his and John’s rooms, stunned. The Blood-Eagle has gained a level of faith and wisdom that is shocking to anyone who knew him before. His curiosity piqued, he resolves to find out what happened to his oldest friend to make him grow up that much, that quickly.
Jake sits heavily on his bed. He’s not sure how he can convince John to relent in his anger toward Jake. He knows he’s been living a lie, but it’s been so long, he doesn’t know how to get out of it.
He’s prayed about it numerous times, but he hasn’t received word back about how to proceed. Once again, he kneels at the side of his bed and bows his head in prayer, silently begging the Ultimate Redeemer for guidance.
He knows he’s not being ignored, but is feeling very frustrated at this being handled in His time, not Jake’s. He knows at this point, patience is what’s needed and he also knows patience is his hardest struggle.
It is only when his knees start hurting, does Jake grunt and groan as his joints pop and creak as he rises from his position. He pulls his boots off and lays down on the comfortable bed. Other than last night, this is the first time he’s slept in one for more than six months.
JAKE STARES AT THE veritable feast in front of him. Being on the trail constantly, he’s used to a certain level of privation. He’s unsure if he’ll be able to even stomach a quarter of the food in front of him.
John has no such limits. When the food arrived, he bowed his head briefly in prayer and tore into his breakfast. Being the long-time soldier, Jake is used to eating as much as one can on the fly, but he’s surprised at the gusto his friend devours the food in front of him.
Jake pokes at the plate of food with his fork, unsure where to begin.
John stops eating and grins at the deputy. “It’s called food. You put some on your fork and put the fork in your mouth. Your body will do the rest. The concept of eating, and the food might be a bit unfamiliar, but trust me in this, you’ll enjoy it.”
Jake gives him a sour look for his sarcasm. Of course, John would choose to be like this in the morning. He sighs and picks up a fork full of the mash. Once he takes a bite, his mouth explodes in a riot of flavor. He groans as he eats whatever it is. Is it potatoes? No, is it eggs? Not right either. He looks down at it and sees what appears to be a mixture of eggs, sausage, potatoes and some type of greens.
He looks back at John in surprise and gets a snort in reply. Obviously, he was waiting for that. With the same amount of gusto as his friend, Jake tears into his food as well.
JOHN LOOKS AT HIS OLD friend’s reaction to the breakfast offered by Joseph. He’s not sure if anything was decided last night by Sean and Brigit.
He’s glad they finally moseyed their way into a relationship, but is unsure how they’ll handle this latest influence. He remembers how it felt, having Richard come up in the conversation, as she described his attacks against her.
Now she seems to be connected to him somehow. It doesn’t surprise him, though. He’s always felt like there was something special about his young female friend.
“What?” Josh demands, snapping John out of his reverie.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring off into space for at least five minutes.” He shakes his head. “That sour look makes me think something isn’t sitting well on your stomach.”
“Just thinking is all. Oh, well. We need to talk to the sheriff as soon as possible. He needs to know about Cherokee, at the very least.”
Josh shakes his head. “Does he know everyone in the territory? I swear.”
“Cherokee? No. As far as I know, they aren’t acquainted. This is more like the sheriff needs to know a lawman was attacked in his jurisdiction. For some reason, he takes stuff like that personally.”
Josh sighs, impatience obvious on his weathered face. “I guess. I just hope the marshals hurry up in getting here. I want to find the two that escaped.”
John nods. “Well, the train only moves as fast as it will move. I’m surprised they haven’t sent word yet, but I expect a marshal will arrive on the one o’clock train.”
Joseph walks up to the table with a fresh pot of coffee. “’Twould ya boyos like some mohr?”
Grateful for a change of subject, John nods and raises his coffee cup.
IN THE LAST TWO HOURS Jake and John have ridden to the train office, confirmed a telegraph was received stating two marshals are on the morning train, and ridden over to Sheriff Lyttle’s office. The two men are now sipping at their coffee, sitting in his office, giving a report on what happened in and around Denver.
With an exasperated tone, the sheriff asks, “Why is it, that anytime there’s a body-count, you’re somehow involved, John?” Jake snorts derisively and the sheriff turns toward the deputy, then demands, “Oh, you think just because you’re federal means you’re gonna stay outta trouble?”
“No, si
r. It’s just that I’ve known John for far longer than I care to admit, and it doesn’t surprise me one bit. Not one bit at all.”
John sighs and shakes his head. “You’ve had several murders here in Norman since I’ve been in Denver, so I don’t wanna hear it.”
Lyttle smiles at the response. “Well, from the sounds of it, all the deaths were in the line of duty. I’ll expect a full written report before the end of the day, from the both of you.”
John crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Alright. We don’t have too long before the marshals get here. Have a couple of quills and wells? Paper?”
When the sheriff provides the requested materials, both marshals spend the next several hours scribbling out numerous pages.
Just after noon, Dawkins, Lyttle’s secretary brings in several plates of steaming food.
As the plates are set down, Lyttle prays a blessing over the food and digs in.
Jake tentatively takes a few bites of his and, compared to this morning’s fare, this meal is barely fit to feed hogs. He politely eats as much as he can, but is definitely looking forward to being able to eat more of the food from the hotel. While he eats, he finishes writing out his report, signing it “Deputy Jacob Isaacson.”
He hands his report over just as he finishes his lunch, followed a moment later by John.
Lyttle takes a few minutes to glance over them, ensuring they are signed, then nods. “Alright then. That covers everything I have.” The sheriff’s office door opens and closes quietly. With a nod of acknowledgment to the newcomers, Lyttle continues. “I’ll make sure the prisoners get delivered to the marshals safely, if you want to return to Denver and check on your friend.”
Behind Jake, comes a voice saying, “That won’t be necessary, sheriff.”
Lyttle looks at the speaker. “Hello, Marshal Blackwolf. Marshal Walters. I’m surprised more than one of you came down here.”
Deputy at Large Page 5